


We Are

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 11:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18755605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: AU mash up: Accidental Eavesdropping and In Vino Veritas





	We Are

She’s about to open the door but hears his voice dip. She knows he’s curling his cell under his chin, she knows he’s leaning back in his chair with a smile pulling at those lips. She knows he’s loosening his tie and his thoughts and his heart.

The wine is good. It’s fine. It’s okay. Or is that her? By the third glass on an empty stomach she’s not sure. The bartender is flirty, smells like fake lemon, looks too pretty with his neat nose and blue eyes and blond waves. She likes strange convergences of wide noses and short chins, of rowdy hair and eyes like…whatever the fuck colour they are.

His hand on her shoulder startles her and she spills some of the wine. He apologises. She spills too.

Diana okay?

What?

Is Diana okay. You sounded like you were enjoying her voice on the phone. You always look at her like she’s…

Scully?

Like she’s some kind of pagan witch, like a queen, like a fucking goddess or something who has…this..this…hold over you and you know, Mulder, that’s fine, that’s good, that’s okay, I mean who am I really, to you? Who am I to you? We just work together. We are nothing other than partners…

Hold up, hang on, Scully.

The air is cold. It hits her in the guts and she stumbles on her stupid fucking heels that she wears to make herself taller of all the motherfucking goddamn stupid things to do, like she could ever be bigger than she really is.

Scully? You’re more than a partner to me.

I…thought…you…I thought we…

What, Scully?

It’s fine. It’s okay. It’s good. I’m good. I’m really…just, okay, I’m going to call a cab. I’m…go away, Mulder.

In the dark in her apartment, she sits nursing a cold black coffee. Nursing the beginnings of a headache and the aching crawl of humiliation through her veins. Her cell buzzes.

We are


End file.
